


Harry Potter and the Secret of Life

by BlueLonghand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 23:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLonghand/pseuds/BlueLonghand
Summary: Ron and Hermione are invited to return to Hogwarts to complete the seventh year they never attended. But Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has a different proposal for Harry: return to the school as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, while completing private coaching in other subjects to equip him for any career he may choose... once he's fulfilled his contract.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [CanonFixFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CanonFixFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Instead of becoming an auror, Harry becomes the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Real life has intervened, and I didn't get Harry's conversation with Professor McGonagall tagged and posted before the deadline. As the prompt indicates, though, she asks him to return to Hogwarts, not as a belated seventh year student, but as DADA instructor. As her character indicates, she is disinclined to take "no" for an answer. When the challenge is done, I plan to post the remainder of this story because... in my head canon? This is what really happened.

### Chapter 1: Sable at Midnight

A clock somewhere was ticking obnoxiously loudly, its rhythmic pulse irritating the edges of Harry Potter’s mind as he lay, sleepless, once again.

He’d spent too many nights this summer exactly this way, lying awake long hours after the other occupants of The Burrow were fast asleep, listening to Ron’s grunts and snores as he slumbered deeply in the single bed on the other side of the room they were sharing, as they had on so many visits in the past.

In a way, it was strange that he was so restless. He was, after all, surrounded by people he loved, the Weasley family the closest thing to a family of his own that Harry had ever known. And he was safe… utterly safe… for the first time in his all-too-eventful life. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, since his defeat of Lord Voldemort, the powerful dark wizard who had shadowed his existence from infancy, the threat that had shaped every circumstance of his life was gone… utterly and irrevocably gone.

On the other hand, as Hermione had pointed out to him only this morning… yesterday morning in just a few more minutes… as they de-gnomed the Weasley garden, perhaps his sleeplessness was not so surprising after all. For the past seven years, ever since the moment he’d learned that he was a wizard, learned the truth about his parents’ murder by Lord Voldemort, his focus… his aim… his existence had been shaped by Lord Voldemort’s influence. Harry had by turns tried to evade Lord Voldemort, and to find him; to avenge his parents’ deaths at Voldemort’s hands; to piece together the story of his life; to equip his friends to resist him; to directly confront him. But with that looming influence gone… he was a bit at loose ends.

“Well, _honestly_ Harry, are you surprised?” she’d asked him, even as she deftly flicked her wrist to prevent the gnome she’d just seized from beneath the begonias from sinking his sharp little teeth into her arm. “You’ve spent your entire wizarding life either resisting Voldemort, or trying to defeat him. And now you’ve done it. He’s gone.” She whirled the gnome above her head and flung it across the fence into the field beyond. “Of course you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve never been a wizard in a world where job one wasn’t dealing with him.”

Harry’d snorted incredulously and focused his attention on finding another gnome. But, awake in Ron’s bedroom as the hour neared midnight, he had to admit she’d had a point. He hadn’t given much thought to his future, beyond Lord Voldemort, in years… not since learning of Voldemort’s existence, on the same night he’d discovered his own identity as a wizard.

Of course, he’d at one time aspired to be an Auror. But since the Auror Office took only the elite, his status as a drop-out – not a single NEWT to his name, his seventh and final year at Hogwarts not even started – effectively put paid to that ambition. And truly, it had been more than a year since he’d seriously considered his career. At the time he’d decided to leave school, it had been an easy decision. The mission left to him by Dumbledore – finding, and destroying, the Horcruxes that rendered Lord Voldemort immune to death – had been easily more important than his education, or his personal ambitions.

But with that mission accomplished… he hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with the rest of his life. Somehow, he doubted the Auror office would simply waive its notoriously high standards simply because he wished it so. And "drop out of school to defeat the Dark Lord" worked singificantly better as a mission statement than as a CV.

And, as the relentless ticking of that damned clock – had Percy brought it with him when he returned to the Burrow after the Battle of Hogwarts? Harry’d certainly never noticed it before, and the ostentatious ticking seemed like just the kind of feature that would appeal to prissy, precise Percy – reminded him, his life was moving inexorably forward, whether he was ready for it or not. In just moments, it would be his birthday, and Harry would be 18. 

It wasn’t a milestone year in the wizarding world. Harry had come of age a year ago, in accordance with wizarding law. But Harry had been raised by Muggles, and he could escape a hopeless sense that, at eighteen, he would be a man… and ought to have some proper idea of what he’d be doing for the next 60 or 70 years. His life expectancy, after all, had increased dramatically at the moment Voldemort fell dead at his feet. He just had no idea what to do with this sudden embarassment of longevity riches.

Fumbling under his pillow, Harry pulled out his wand and glasses. 

“Lumos,” he muttered, directing the beam of wandlight at the battered gold watch he’d received for his last birthday. His instinct – and the persistence of Percy’s clock (it just had to be Percy’s!) – had not misled him. It was seconds now until midnight… until he’d be 18 in truth.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

The clock kept ticking, but Harry wasn’t paying attention. His focus had been seized by a sudden, louder but equally rhythmic, tapping at Ron’s bedroom window.

He groped his way to the window and opened the pane to admit an owl… larger than a normal post owl, though smaller than his late, lamented Hedwig, and darker – dramatically darker – than any owl, or any size, he’d previously encountered. It may have been a trick of the midnight light, or the lack of it, but the creature’s feathers appeared jet black, its eyes mere pools of glossier back amidst its dusky face.

The owl extended its leg and Harry, accustomed to wizarding post, was unsurprised to see a scroll of parchment bound there. He untied it quickly, then rummaged on the windowsill for a coin to pay for the delivery, only to realize the owl had no pouch attached to its other leg for payment.

“Did you lose your purse?” he crooned softly, careful not to disturb Ron… not that Ron had ever, in seven years of acquaintance, been awakened by anything less than an explosion… or a spell to drag him out of bed and dangle him mid-air by his ankle.

The owl blinked slowly, then tapped its beak twice, gently but firmly, against the hand that was holding the parchment scroll.

“Time to read the message, is it?” Harry asked softly. “Fair enough.” He unfurled the parchment, smiling as he recognized the oversized and untidy scrawl of the Hogwarts groundskeeper.

_Dear Harry,_

__

Happy birthday!

__

Sorry I can’t come to see ya in person, but the grounds is in a right state since the battle. Grawpy and me’ll be busier than house elves, tryin ta be ready for the first o’ September.

__

I didn’t know what to get you for your birthday, til I remembered I bought ya yer first owl. I didn’t think you’d want another snowy – not so soon after Hedwig – but Sable here’s about as different as they come. She’s not a store owl, her. She was born right here at Hogwarts, in the Forbidden Forest. Her ma wanted to kill her – she didn’t rightly know what to think, Sable’s so dark – but I brought her home instead and trained her, and I thought she could be dead useful to you and company besides.

__

I’m sorry ya can’t name her yerself, but she’s been Sable since she were a wee mite, and I don’t think she’d take to a change at this point.

__

See yer soon,

__

_Hagrid_

“So, you’re my birthday gift, are you?” Harry asked Sable softly, not sure what he thought of the idea. The death of Hedwig, the snowy owl Hagrid had given him for his eleventh birthday, was as raw a wound now as it had been the night she’d died – shortly before his last birthday, as a matter of fact – the victim of a Death Eater’s curse.

Sable made a clicking noise with her beak, but otherwise ignored him, sidling over to the door of Pigwidgeon’s cage and trying to nick an Owl Nut through the bars. Pigwidgeon, who might reasonably have been expected to resist such a manoeuvre, hooted happily and tossed the Owl Nut through the bars.

“Willing to share, are you, Pig?” Harry asked, unable to resist a chuckle. “Lucky for me… and for you, too, Sable,” he added. He unlatched the cage, and Sable sidled in with no further encouragement from him.

Harry returned to bed, tucking his glasses and wand under his pillow once again.

Oddly enough, he slept soundly… the sound of the clock utterly forgotten.


	2. Birthday post

The kitchen at The Burrow was full to overflowing, though that was hardly an unusual circumstance. In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, all of the surviving Weasleys – including Percy, the previously estranged son – had returned home. Even with the absence of Fred, a gaping hole in their midst, the six remaining Weasley offspring, combined with Bill’s wife, Fleur, and the Weasley parents, were more than enough to fill the kitchen to the bursting point. Harry, too, had been ensconced with The Burrow for weeks now. The Weasleys had insisted, and his resistance had been little more than show. Despite his improved relationship with Kreacher, the house elf who’d made his house at Grimmauld Place surprisingly comfortable, the idea of living alone with only a house elf – a slave, as Hermione had often insisted, despite his enthusiasm for his own servitude – for company was deeply unappealing. 

Hermione, too, had settled into The Burrow following the battle, sharing a room with Ginny, the sole Weasley daughter.

“I _will_ go and get Mum and Dad from Australia,” she’d insisted at least once a week since they’d arrived. “It’s just… complicated.”

And, Harry had to admit, it probably was. Never mind that she’d be forced to explain to her parents – currently convinced that they were a childless couple named Monica and Wendell Wilkins – why they were suddenly resident in Australia. She’d also be forced to explain to them the battle she’d survived, the friends she’d lost, the life-changing impact of the past year.

And, of course, her leaving would force Ron to get organized to contact her once she was no longer living in his parents’ house and eating all her meals around their table. Organization had never been Ron’s strong suit – nor had taking ownership of his relationship with Hermione – and since the battle… since Fred’s death… he’d been even more-than-usually committed to going with the flow. Most days, he went to London after breakfast, assisting George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop the twins had established before Fred’s untimely death.

But for all that eleven semi-permanent residents were keeping The Burrow full to the bursting point, the kitchen did tend to clear out a bit after breakfast on most days.

Harry’s birthday was at least a part of the reason for today’s exception.

Molly Weasley had organized a grander-than-usual breakfast, in honour of the occasion… which in turn meant that George and Ron were late in leaving for the shop… and that Fleur, Bill, Ginny and Ron had all been enlisted to assist with the clean-up. Hermione had remained because Ron was still there, although her official reason was to consult one of Molly’s recipe books. Percy was currently unemployed – his previous employment (or collusion) with the infiltrated Ministry of Magic not yet fully investigated and cleared. And Arthur was going in to work late. No excuse, no anxiety. With Fred’s death fresh in all of their minds – and with the new Ministry’s enhanced appreciation of his knowledge of, and enthusiasm for, the Muggle Community – he was spending more time at home, anxiously watching Molly, whose characteristic cheerfulness was still prone to sudden outbursts of unrestrained grief. 

And so, there were eleven in the kitchen when Ginny glanced out the window and exclaimed “Owls!”

“Probably just your Hogwarts letters, dear,” Molly murmured.

“I’m the only one still at Hogwarts, Mum,” Ginny protested. “Surely it can’t take four owls to deliver just my letter… unless the book list is truly epic,” she added with a mischievous grin.

Molly missed the joke entirely, but Harry grinned broadly at her in return, and saw Arthur doing the same. Ginny’s calm acceptance of every situation, her unfailing humour in the face of tragedy and loss, had been like balm to Harry’s soul these past weeks. Not that he’d had much time alone with her. Somehow, since the battle, he’d craved Hermione’s company, and Ron’s… or solitude. But Ginny’s presence was part of the texture, the gift, of these weeks at The Burrow.

Sure enough, as Fleur leaned forward and unlatched the window over the sink, no fewer than four owls flew throw the window. As Molly had predicted, one of the school owls landed in front of Ginny. But to Harry’s surprise, the other three landed in front of Ron, Hermione… and himself.

With a quick glance at Ron -- who was looking uncharacteristically green, the colour contrasting oddly with his carroty hair -- Harry untied the parchment tied to the barn owl's leg.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

__

__

It can hardly have escaped your notice that you failed to return to Hogwarts for your seventh and final year of education. Nor will it surprise you to learn that NEWT examinations were deferred in light of the unprecedented events that occurred at Hogwarts at the end of last term.

__

p >

__

Your erstwhile classmates are being offered the opportunity to undergo their NEWTS on August the 31st, preparatory to their leaving of Hogwarts.

__

__

Mr. Ronald Weasley and Ms Hermione Granger, however, are being invited to return to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year prior to sitting NEWT examinations, given that they, like you, did not undertake even the most rudimentary components of seventh year preparation.

__

__

You, however, are a most exceptional case Mr. Potter... and not for the first time. While you would be most welcome, like Mr. Weasley and Ms Granger, to return to Hogwarts to complete your education, I would like to meet with you this morning at 11:00 at The Leaky Cauldron to discuss an alternative scenario for your future at Hogwarts.

__

__

Please do not trouble yourself to reply to this invitation. Nor, indeed, should you be misled by my legendary courtesy. This is an invitation in name only, Mr. Potter, and might more properly be understood as a summons.

__

__

I shall await you at The Leaky Cauldron. I should advise you not to oblige me to wait excessively.

__

__

Sincerely,

__

__

_Minerva McGonagall_

__

Acting Headmistress

__


End file.
